


Slender Aphrodite

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: After a literal run-in during college move-in, Clarke and Lexa find each other harboring massive crushes, while convinced the other doesn't know that they exist.When Clarke zones out during their Queer Studies class and has to ask Lexa what she missed, they find themselves forced to face their feelings... and to find a way to express them.ForDreamsAreMyWords, who sent methis postwith the note "OMG FIC IT".So I did.Warning:If you cannot handle the word queer, don't read this story.  It is used casually, in a non-pejorative manner, as an umbrella term.  If you have a problem with that, I don't want to hear it.  You have been warned.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 58
Kudos: 399





	Slender Aphrodite

"... the giving of broccoli was popular from the 1910s to the 1950s." 

Clarke jerked out of the half-doze she'd drifted into, her head snapping up so hard she thought she felt something in her neck pop. She surreptitiously rubbed it as she ducked down again, trying desperately to mentally rewind the last few minutes to figure out what the hell her teacher was talking about, but all she got was the wah-wah-wah sound of adults talking in Charlie Brown cartoons. 

She looked down at her notebook, hoping she'd somehow managed to take notes without her brain's participation in the process, but the page was as blank as her mind, and she felt panic starting to rise, starting in her gut and rising rapidly into her chest, because there was no way a tidbit like that – whatever it had been – wouldn't be on a test, even if it was just for bonus points. 

She pressed her lips together, then fumbled out a pen and quickly scribbled a note, tearing the page carefully from her notebook... only to realize the only person close enough for her to pass it to was the one person she didn't want to ever see her at anything less than her absolute best: Lexa Woods.

Lexa Woods, who she'd had a crush on since she'd accidentally – but literally – run into her while moving into the dorms, too distracted by the argument she was having with her mother to pay attention to where she was going. The collision had been hard enough to send them both toppling, and Clarke had been so embarrassed she spent the next several weeks ducking into doorways and closets and anywhere else she could find any time she saw her... until she realized Lexa didn't even know she existed. 

Which should have been a relief. 

But.

She'd had a complete meltdown on the first day of spring semester when she'd walked into her Queer Studies class and found Lexa already there, front and center... or middle and slightly off to the side, but _details_... and it had taken Raven a large pizza and several hours to convince her she wasn't _actually_ going to die of embarrassment if Lexa ever turned around and saw her sitting there. Nor would she spontaneously combust from being in Lexa's presence... but sometimes it kind of felt like she would. 

And by sometimes she meant all the time. And by kind of she meant completely. 

Like right now she could feel the heat building in her face, spreading from her cheeks to her ears, down her neck and up to her hairline. The tip of her nose was probably red as a cherry, and her eyes felt like they were boiling in their sockets. 

How had she not noticed Lexa was sitting (almost) right next to her? Sure, she'd been up way too late working on a paper last night, and she'd overslept and hadn't had time to stop for coffee as she sprinted headlong from her dorm to class, but Lexa wasn't the kind of person you overlooked. Ever.

Except... today she kind of didn't look like herself. 

Today she looked... better. 

Which should have been impossible.

But.

She usually looked like she was on her way to a job interview or a photo shoot, hair sleek and shiny, just enough makeup to make her look like she was naturally flawless, clothing straight out of a fashion spread. Even when she was dressed casually, she looked like she belonged on the cover of a college brochure. 

Today, though. Today she just looked... human. Ripped jeans, flannel shirt, slouchy beanie over hair she hadn't had time to straighten, dark-rimmed glasses Clarke had never seen her in before and...

_Oh fuck me..._

... _freckles_. 

Just a few scattered across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, but it was enough to send the twisting, squeezing feeling in Clarke's chest rapidly south, and it was all she could do not to squirm in her seat. 

But seeing her look less than model-perfect and more like a girl who might actually see Clarke if she bothered to look emboldened Clarke, and she slid the note across the single desk between them.

* * *

Lexa had been acutely aware of Clarke's last-minute arrival to class and had been studiously avoiding looking at her ever since. She knew Clarke didn't like her, ever since Lexa had run her over in the dorm hallway in her haste to get away from her father and his litany of reasons why she was ruining her future by 'settling' on a small liberal arts school when she could have gone Ivy League, and Lexa hadn't even apologized because she was too stunned by how beautiful Clarke was to say anything at all. Clarke had gone out of her way to avoid her ever since, until Lexa had started pretending not to notice her so she didn't inconvenience her further just by existing. 

So she was more than a little surprised when Clarke slid a piece of paper across the desk between them. She looked to her right to see if there was someone else in their row that Clarke meant for her to pass it along to, but it was just the two of them. She opened it and had to fight back a smile.

_Did she just say BROCCOLI?!_

Lexa glanced toward the front, where their professor had paused to cue up a video, and quickly scribbled a response. 

_Apparently Sappho wrote a poem about her and a lover garlanded in broccoli, so lesbians and bisexual women used to give each other broccoli to signal their 'Sapphic' desires._

She paused, then added:

_Maybe something got lost in translation?_

She slid the paper back and watched out of the corner of her eye as Clarke's hand darted out to take it almost before Lexa let go. 

Clarke snorted, quickly covering it with a cough, and Lexa bit her lip, sneaking a glance at Clarke, whose eyes met hers for just a second before shifting focus to the front of the room where the video had started to play. 

Lexa tried not to hope that Clarke would write back, but for the rest of class she found herself checking to see if anything had appeared on the desk between them every few seconds. But Clarke must have decided the conversation was over, because the paper had disappeared and the only time she picked up her pen was to jot notes on the lecture. 

When class ended, Lexa stood up quickly, hefting her messenger bag onto her shoulder, and nearly stumbled backward when Clarke turned to look at her. "Thanks," Clarke said. "For the explanation. I—"

"Are you okay?" Lexa blurted, and felt herself die a little inside as soon as the words escaped her lips. 

Clarke blinked. "Um." 

_What the actual fuck, Lexa? 'Are you okay?' As if Clarke might somehow still be injured from their collision. As if..._

"I guess I spaced out a little," Clarke said. "Too little sleep and not enough caffeine. But otherwise I'm okay."

"Okay," Lexa said. "Good. That's good. I'm glad. That you're okay, I mean. Not that you didn't get enough sleep. Was it your roommate? Mine is—" She stopped herself, because she didn't have anything negative to say about her roommate. From what she'd heard from other girls on their hall, she had pretty much hit the roommate jackpot with Anya, who was snarky and moody but occasionally hilarious, wasn't too messy or too neat, and knew when to mind her own business but would have your back if you needed her, no questions asked, no matter what.

"Raven's cool," Clarke said. "I just have a paper due later today and of course I waited 'til the last minute." She shrugged. "I'm going to go get some coffee." 

Was it an invitation? It might be, but then it might be Clarke trying to get the hell away from her without being rude. Given Lexa's inability to form a coherent thought in Clarke's presence, the latter seemed more likely. 

"Okay," she said again. "I guess I'll, uh, see you around?" 

"Yeah," Clarke said. "I'll see you."

"Okay," Lexa said, and why couldn't she stop saying 'okay'? She'd said it enough times that it had started to lose its meaning... not that it meant much in the first place. And yet the next – and thankfully last – thing out of her mouth as Clarke turned to go, was, "Okay, bye."

Clarke pretended not to hear. Or at least that's what Lexa told herself, clinging to the last scrap of dignity she had with all her might.

* * *

"Oooh, the sketchbook is out!" Raven said, tossing herself down on Clarke's bed with thankfully just enough warning that Clarke was able to lift her pencil before the shock wave hit and caused it to go skidding across the page. "What are you drawing? Is it me?" Raven craned her neck to try to peek, and Clarke clutched the pad to her chest instinctively. "Oooh," Raven said again. "Is it naughty? Is it me naked?" She threw herself back into a pose that Clarke suspected was supposed to be sexy but honestly just looked painful. "Draw me like one of your French girls, Clarke!" 

Clarke snorted. "It's not you, and it's not naughty," she said. "Who even uses that word anymore?"

"Me," Raven said. "I'm bringing it back. I'm a trendsetter." She grinned. "Don't you have a paper you should be working on?"

"Done and turned in," Clarke said. "Don't you have million and one drafting... drafts you need to do?"

"I'm taking a break," Raven said. "Are you seriously not going to let me see?" She stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout, then sucked it back in again, one corner of her mouth quirking up. "Is it your _girlfriend_?"

Heat prickled Clarke's cheeks. "She's not my girlfriend," she said.

Raven's smirk slid into a full-fledged grin. "I knew it," she said. "And she's not your girlfriend because you refuse to woman up and ask her." 

"And because she doesn't know I exist," Clarke said... but that wasn't true anymore, was it? After class this morning, Lexa definitely knew she existed, and if she made a connection between the girl asking about broccoli and the one who had knocked her down in the hallway and then disappeared without even saying she was sorry because the minute they'd locked eyes Clarke had started falling, the near-instant crush that had started in her core and quickly spread to infect the rest of her rendering her mute.

Raven's eyebrows crept toward her hairline. "Something happened," she said. "I can see it in your eyes. Something changed."

Raven was right. Something _had_ changed. They'd talked... if one could call the awkward, fumbling exchange of words that didn't even really make sense in hindsight a conversation. Untouchable, unflappable Lexa had proven to be anything but. It was as if the clothing she usually wore was a costume, the makeup a mask, and without it she was just like anyone else. 

And it only made Clarke want her more. 

Clarke loosened her death grip on her sketchbook and turned it around so Raven could see.

Raven whistled, reaching out to pry it from Clarke so she could examine it in more detail. "Can you imagine if she actually dressed like this?" she asked. "You've got a hell of an imagination."

"She does," Clarke said, her voice almost a wheeze. She licked her lips and swallowed, trying to restore moisture to her mouth. "She did. That's what she wore to class this morning."

"And you didn't jump her then and there?" Raven asked. "Hell, _I_ would have jumped her, and she's not even my type. Usually." She shook her head and handed the drawing back. "You need to do something," she said. "And by something, I mean Lexa. Because if you don't, someone else will."

* * *

Lexa opened the door to her closet and sighed, confronted by blouses and slacks and designer jeans. Off to one side were a dozen or more cute dresses... but Lexa didn't want to be cute. She didn't want to be dry clean only and perfectly pressed. She wanted to be comfortable. 

She wanted to be herself. 

And this wasn't her.

Maybe it was her sometimes – she didn't hate _everything_ she owned; she'd even picked some of it out – but not all the time. This was who her father wanted her to be, who she'd been trained to be since she was too small to understand or object, and by the time she'd realized she had a choice, her father already had an iron grip on her life she didn't know how to break.

Coming here instead of going to Harvard had been her first act of defiance, and her father had threatened to cut her off financially, but in the end hadn't followed through. She suspected he was still clinging to the hope that she would hate it and beg him to let her transfer, which he would be more than happy to arrange. But she didn't hate it here. She loved it. Loved everything about it...

... except the fact that she was still pretending to be someone she wasn't. 

Her outfit yesterday had been the result of a combination of lack of sleep from her whirlwind trip home to attend one of her father's events and the rebellion it sparked in her. Anya's laundry basket – clean, but not folded – had been right there, and she'd just... helped herself. 

And it had felt amazing. 

She'd expected Anya to be mad, or at least weirded out, when she saw her, but all she'd said was, "Looks good," and then when Lexa had tried to give the flannel back, "Keep it." Lexa had thought about arguing, but if she was going to start living her truth, she might as well go all in. So she'd just thanked her and hung it neatly in her own closet. 

It was the only thing in there she didn't hate right now, but she couldn't wear it again tomorrow. Everyone would notice... wouldn't they? (And by everyone, she really meant Clarke, because that's what – who – this was _really_ about, wasn't it?)

She heaved an irritated sigh, loud enough that it got Anya to look up from the textbook her nose was buried in. "Everything all right over there?" Anya asked, her tone light but her eyes serious. 

"Fine," Lexa lied. 

"Right," Anya said. She tugged her headphones from her ears and set her book aside, sliding off her lofted bed with practiced ease. She went to her own closet and opened the door, flipping through the hangers until she finally emerged with another flannel, this one green and blue checked, and held it out to her. "It'll bring out your eyes," she said. 

"You don't—" Lexa started to say but was cut off by the flannel hitting her in the face. The message was clear – take it, because Anya wasn't taking it back.

"I have too many anyway," Anya said. "I've been meaning to thin the herd."

"Thank you," Lexa said again. "I'll pay—"

Anya waved the suggestion away. "No need. Just enjoy it."

Lexa silently vowed that next time they decided they couldn't stand another day of dining hall food she would pick up the tab for the pizza (or whatever they decided to order). It was the least she could do. She finished picking out her outfit for the next day, draping it over the back of her desk chair, then settled in to do some reading of her own, because economics was a surefire way to put her to sleep. 

In the morning she got to class early, but instead of going to the front of the room like she usually would she took a seat in the second to last row, where she'd sat last class because she'd been shy about anyone noticing and commenting on her transformation. She tried to review her notes from last class, but kept glancing toward the door, the butterflies in her stomach flapping harder as more and more people who weren't Clarke entered the room.

Clarke slid into her seat a few minutes before class was supposed to start, managing to do so quietly enough that Lexa didn't hear her arrival. She just appeared between one hopeful look and the next, and when she caught Lexa peeking, she flashed her a quick smile and a salute with a large travel mug. Lexa quickly turned away, her cheeks blazing at having been caught.

The lecture began, and she made herself focus on their professor and only their professor... until she saw a sheet of paper appear on the desk between them out of the corner of her eye. She thought about ignoring it... but who was she kidding? There was no way she was going to ignore it. She reached out and slid it onto her own desk, flipping open the folded sheet. 

On it was a doodle of a... head? stalk? of broccoli, smiling and waving at her. 

A giggled bubbled up and she had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep it down. When she looked over at Clarke, she saw her eyes were bright, sparkling with suppressed laughter. 'Hi,' Lexa mouthed. 

'Hi,' Clarke mouthed back, and turned her attention back to the PowerPoint.

* * *

Clarke took her time gathering her things – and her nerve – after class. Because maybe Raven was right. Maybe she just needed to woman up and go for it. If Lexa remembered the incident from move-in, she seemed to have moved on... at least if the smile on her face every time she peeked at Clarke's little drawing again, which was at least half a dozen times, was any indication. 

She turned to look at her now, to ask her if she wanted to—but she wasn't there. She'd slipped out of the other end of the row, which meant going out of her way to not walk past Clarke. 

Clarke shoved her notebook into her bag and heaved it onto her shoulder, pushing down the feeling of betrayal that was trying to wrap itself around her heart, because how could someone she didn't even know betray her? Smiling at a stupid doodle wasn't a promise of anything more. She shouldered her way through the door—and nearly collided with Lexa, who stepped back with a startled look. 

"Clarke," she said, and there was something about the sound of her name coming from those lips that turned the heat in her belly from a simmer to a boil in an instant. "There you are."

As if she'd been looking for her. But she'd been _right there_...

"Here I am," Clarke confirmed.

"Good," Lexa said, then her face twisted into a grimace, just for a second, like she was cursing herself for opening her mouth. "Are you going somewhere?" Again, that flicker of frustration, as if the words coming out weren't the ones she meant to be saying. "I mean do you have class? Or something?"

"Not until this afternoon," Clarke said. "Why?"

"I thought maybe—" Lexa stopped, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that was usually reserved for the blouses she wore. But not today. Today she was wearing a flannel shirt that highlighted the blue-green of her eyes, the color of which Clarke had tried to capture more than once in her sketchbook without success. She was back in her designer jeans and her hair had been straightened and pulled neatly back, a look that put her somewhere between College Barbie and Actual College Student, but she managed to pull it off. 

"You thought maybe...?" Clarke prompted when the rest of the sentence wasn't forthcoming.

"I hate my clothes," Lexa blurted. She gathered the edges of the flannel together in a fist. "This isn't mine. Or it wasn't. But—" She shook her head slightly. "Do you want to come shopping with me?"

Of all the things she could have asked, all the suggestions she could have made, that hadn't been anywhere on the list. And shopping wasn't one of Clarke's preferred leisure time activities, but...

"Yes," she said. "Absolutely."

It didn't take long to discover why Lexa needed someone to accompany her on her wardrobe refresh expedition. She had no idea how to shop. Or where to shop. It was almost as if someone else bought her clothes for her, and she just wore whatever she was given. 

Or maybe it was exactly like that. 

Clarke could feel her frustration rising as they walked into store after store and walked back out again empty-handed, because everywhere they went sold the same picture-perfect looks Lexa had decided to discard. She tried a few things on, but every time she came out of the dressing room in the same thing she'd gone in wearing, shaking her head. 

After the fourth failure, Clarke pulled out her phone and googled. "I have an idea," she said. "Do you trust me?"

Lexa looked at her, her cheek denting in where she gnawed at it, but after a moment she nodded. 

"This way," Clarke said, turning down a side street, heading away from downtown and its rows of big name stores, leading Lexa to a little hole in the wall that was so easily overlooked Clarke had to double check the address before opening the door. Bells chimed as they walked in, and a purple-haired woman whose face was studded with metal looked up and smiled. Clarke smiled back, looking around to get her bearings, then started to head for the section that seemed the most promising. But Lexa balked, her eyes wide with apparent horror. 

Clarke reached for her sleeve, tugging at it gently before letting her hand slide down to clasp Lexa's. "It's okay," she said. "Come on."

* * *

Clarke's fingers wrapping around her own short-circuited Lexa's brain long enough to get her past the door, and once they'd made their way past the section full of what were either vintage clothes or costumes (Lexa wasn't sure, it might have been a mix of both) to more standard fare, she didn't feel quite so much like racing back out the door.

It took her a few minutes to get her bearings, but soon she was rummaging through the racks, pulling out anything that caught her eye. Soon her arms were full, and she looked around, trying to locate the dressing rooms. 

"Over there," Clarke said, pointing. She'd been trailing Lexa, but at a distance, browsing without any apparent intent to buy anything for herself. 

"Thanks," Lexa said, and ducked behind one of the curtains. She stripped down and began to try on item after item, throwing together outfits almost at random. Some things she discarded immediately, either because they didn't fit the way she wanted or because one glance in the mirror told her that it wasn't 'her' after all... even if she was still figuring out who that was. 

"Did you get lost?" Clarke called from the other side of the curtain. "Is there a secret door to Narnia in there?"

Lexa laughed. "I loved that book!" she said. 

"Me too," Clarke said. "Imagine my surprise when I learned Jesus wasn't actually a lion." 

Lexa gave herself a quick once-over and finally stepped out of the dressing room, feeling self-conscious until Clarke's eyes lit up and her face split in a smile. She gave Lexa a thumbs up. 

"You think?" Lexa asked, looking at herself again in the mirror that made up almost the entire wall near the dressing rooms. 

"Definitely," Clarke said. "What else've you got?"

Lexa went back into the little cubicle and put the outfit she'd removed into the keep pile and changed into her next look, popping out again for Clarke's opinion. This time Clarke looked more pensive, her lips pursed and her forehead furrowed. "What do you think?" she asked, instead of giving her own opinion.

Lexa considered. "I like the pants," she said. "The top..." She scrunched her nose.

"Agreed," Clarke said. 

Lexa tried on piece after piece, loosening up a little more each time she stepped out until she was strutting and posing just so she could see Clarke's eyes sparkle and hear her laugh. Clarke went back to the racks a few times, pulling things she thought would look good, and when Lexa tried them on, she wasn't wrong. Finally she had a stack of clothes that was a very solid beginning to a new wardrobe. She made one final pass, eliminating a few things that she'd chosen less because she liked them and more because her father would hate them, and gathered her haul into her arms. 

"One more thing," Clarke said. She held out a leather jacket. 

Lexa shook her head. "I can't—"

"Just try it on," Clarke said. "Here." She took the pile of clothing from Lexa and set it down on a bench, then held up the jacket so Lexa could slide her arms into it, settling it on her shoulders with a gentle pat and turning her to face the mirror.

"Oh," Lexa said. She pressed her lips together, fighting back a smile, because this was the kind of coat that called for a badass scowl, not a giddy grin. 

"Yeah?" Clarke asked. 

"Yeah," Lexa agreed. She looked Clarke up and down, then went to the rack that the coat had come from. She went from one hanger to the next, finally stopping when one with blue detailing caught her eye. She slid it from the hanger and held it out to Clarke. "Turnabout is fair play," she said. 

Clarke rolled her eyes, but she slipped it on, and they stood side by side, looking at themselves in the mirror. "I feel like we should—" Clarke started, then turned so they were almost back-to-back, folding her hands together to make a gun and holding it in front of her face. 

Lexa did the same, and they turned at the same time to look in the mirror with their best action movie glares... and burst out laughing. "You have to get it," Lexa said when she caught her breath. "If you don't, I'm getting it for you."

Clarke looked at her, her smile slipping and her mouth dropping open like she wanted to say something, but she finally just shook her head... or really her whole body... and headed for the register. 

Lexa handed over her father's credit card without a qualm – they could fight about it later if he really wanted to – and gathered her bulging bags. "Are you hungry?" 

"Starved," Clarke said. "I had time for coffee, but not breakfast, and—" Her eyes went wide, and she pulled her phone from a pocket. "Shit. I have to go. I'm sorry. I have to get to class. Another time?"

"Another time," Lexa agreed, and watched Clarke dash off back toward campus.

* * *

Clarke slid into her seat with seconds to spare, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She loved her body exactly as it was... but the sprint from downtown made her think she could maybe use a little more exercise, just to build up her stamina and lung capacity a bit. Trouble was she hated sweating... which she was definitely doing right now. She ducked her head to sniff herself as she took off her new coat – the one Lexa had picked out for her, had offered (threatened?) to buy for her – to make sure she didn't smell, which earned her an odd look from the guy across the table from her.

Clarke bit her tongue to keep herself from making a snide comment about how some people actually cared about the air quality in the room, even if he didn't. She could smell the patchouli rolling off him in waves. It almost – _almost_ \- covered the stink of whatever he'd been smoking before class. 

"Today we're going to continue to work on figure drawing," her professor said. "Specifically, I would like you all to sketch at least two bodies in relationship to each other. Nothing 'NSFW, as they say, since your fellow students are going to be your models for the day. We want everyone to be comfortable. I'll give you the first half of class for sketching – that's about fifteen minutes each to draw if you're in groups of three – and then you'll have the rest of the time to start turning your sketch into something more detailed." 

Clarke went to one of the supply cupboards to get several sheets of newsprint for her rough sketches, setting herself up at an easel and recruiting two of the other girls to be her models. She let one of them take her turn sketching first, and then the other, spending the time she was posing trying to decide what she wanted to do. As the minutes ticked by she started to worry that she wasn't going to come up with anything... and then it hit her, and holding her pose for the last few minutes was absolute torture as she struggled to contain her glee.

When her professor called out that it was time for them to switch, she quickly got her models into position and began to sketch, doing a very rough one first just to warm up, then flipped to the next page and started over, careful to capture the nuances she would need when she really began to fill in the blanks. 

By the time class ended, she was so wrapped up in what she was doing her professor had to tap her on the shoulder to let her know it was time to go. Clarke looked up and realized the room had emptied around her without her noticing. 

"You can finish next class," her professor said. 

Clarke shook her head. "That might not be enough time. I need it for Friday."

"What's—" Her lips curved in a knowing smile. "Ah, of course. Valentine's Day." She tipped her head, considering. "I have a class tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock. You can come in then if you—"

"I'll be there," Clarke said. "Thank you!" She tucked the drawing into her portfolio for safekeeping until tomorrow and grabbed her coat and bag, heading for the door, because her stomach had just reminded her – loudly – that she still hadn't eaten. 

"Clarke?" 

She turned, and her professor was giving her a look that Clarke read as a mix of indulgent and nostalgic. "Yes?"

"She's going to love it."

* * *

"Whoa," Anya said as she walked in and nearly tripped over the pile of clothes on the floor. "Everything okay?" 

"Just Marie Kondo-ing my closet," Lexa said. "Those—" she nudged the pile that had overflowed the box she'd put them in, "do _not_ spark joy." 

Anya looked at the pile, then at Lexa's almost empty closet, and frowned. "That's... everything you own." 

"Not anymore," Lexa said. She grabbed her bags from her shopping trip earlier and held them up. 

"I didn't know you knew that place existed," Anya said, not even trying to hide her surprise. "It doesn't seem like—"

"I didn't," Lexa said, her chin jutting just a little in defiance, because she knew Anya had been about to say that it didn't seem like her style, and it wasn't true. It wasn't her father's style, but she was done with being his puppet. Rejecting the clothing one of his assistants had picked out was like cutting the strings he used to manipulate her. "Clarke did." 

"Clarke... Griffin?" Anya's eyebrows arched so high they almost met her hairline. "Clarke 'I didn't believe in love at first sight until I saw her' Griffin? Clarke 'I bumped into her in the hall once and now I think she thinks I'm no better than an axe murder' Griffin? Clarke—"

"Okay, okay," Lexa said, holding up her hands in surrender. "I get it." 

"Are you sure?" Anya asked, her shock fading into smirk. "Because I can keep going." 

"I get it," Lexa repeated. "And yes, that Clarke."

"Tell me everything," Anya said, flopping onto her bed, on her stomach with her chin propped on her hands in what Lexa took to be her impression of a girl at a slumber party. 

Lexa shrugged. "It's not a big deal," she said, even though she'd caught herself grinning like an idiot at nothing at all several times... or not nothing, because it happened every time she thought about Clarke's smile, or laugh, or thumbs up or down, and how Clarke had seemed to know as well as – or better – than Lexa what this new Lexa – the _real_ Lexa – would look good in. "I asked her to go shopping with me but didn't know where to go to find the kind of stuff I actually wanted, and she did." 

"Mm-hmm, yes, of course... except for the part where things suddenly went from Clarke going all Mission: Impossible every time she caught sight of you to..." Anya frowned, obviously lacking a 'girls go shopping together' movie to finish her analogy, and ended up just waving her hand at the shopping bags. 

"Broccoli," Lexa said. "She drew me broccoli."

"She... _what_?" Anya sat up. "EX-PLAIN," she demanded in her best Dalek voice. 

Lexa rolled her eyes. "The other day in class our professor was talking about different ways the queer community used to signal to others that they were queer, when you couldn't just say it, or ask. Like now it's all rainbows, or various other color combinations, right? But that's really recent, in the grand scheme of things. And she mentioned how in the early part of the 20th century, lesbians and bisexual women would give each other broccoli. But Clarke kind of zoned out, so she passed me a note asking me to explain. Then this morning she slipped me another note..." She retrieved it from her bag and handed it to Anya. "I know it doesn't mean anything, she was just being funny, but—"

"Or she was flirting with you," Anya said. 

"She wasn't," Lexa said dismissively. There was a part of her that had wished she was – or really all of her, with all her heart – but she'd quickly squashed it. "Sometimes a cruciferous vegetable is just a cruciferous vegetable."

"And sometimes it's a girl telling you, 'Oh, Lexa, all I want for Christmas is you all up in my florets!'"

Lexa glared at her. "One, Christmas was two months ago. Two, no. Just no."

"How do you know?" Anya asked.

"Because I'm not the kind of girl that girls like her flirt with," Lexa said. 

Anya raised an eyebrow. "Or you're the type of girl who can't tell when someone's flirting with you," she said. "There's a difference."

"I would know," Lexa said, trying not to let Anya feed the ember of hope that still lingered deep in the recesses of her heart. It was enough for Clarke to not hate her. 

"Would you though?" Anya asked. "Would you really?"

* * *

On Thursday morning, they arrived at class at the same time. Clarke gestured for Lexa to precede her into the row that she'd quickly come to think of as their row, because she needed the one desk at the end that was set up for left-handed people. She couldn't help the little pang of disappointment she felt when Lexa still left a seat between them but tried not to read too much into it. One shopping trip wasn't any kind of commitment. Maybe she just liked her space. 

Lexa leaned over. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned back toward the front, but at the last second before the lecture began, she turned back and said, "Doyouwanttogetsomethingtoeatafterclass?" The words came out so fast they blurred together, and it took Clarke a second to pick them apart. 

"I can't," Clarke whispered as the rest of the class mumbled a response to their professor's greeting. "I have to work on a project."

Lexa nodded and looked away. Clarke couldn't help noticing the way she bit her lip, like she was holding back something – a response, maybe, or some kind of emotion. Was she disappointed? Hurt? Angry? 

_It's for you,_ Clarke wanted to say. _The project is for you. Otherwise..._

Instead, she pulled out her notebook and began to draw. 

The next ten minutes of the lecture were a blur as Clarke drew another anthropomorphic broccoli, this one with a tragic face as fat drops of rain came down around it. It extended its hand, offering a paper that said, 'Rain check?' She slid it over to Lexa and tried to tune back into whatever the professor was saying, but her attention was still mostly on Lexa.

Lexa looked over at her and flashed her a quick smile and a thumbs up, and now Clarke was the one biting her lip as relief and a fresh wave of hope flooded through her.

After class she said a quick goodbye to Lexa, then hurried over to the art building, because her art teacher had said she could have time before class to work to make sure she got it done. Clarke pulled the page from her portfolio, fixed it to an easel, and got back to work.

She was just adding the last few dots of green as the rest of the class began to filter out. She took a step back and was pleased with what she saw. It wasn't perfect, but it got her point across. At least she hoped it would.

* * *

"She did it again," Lexa said, showing Anya the latest edition to the Broccoli Saga. "I asked her to lunch and she said no, but then she gave me this." 

"And you still think she's not flirting with you?" 

"Yes," Lexa said, but even she could hear that her voice lacked conviction. 

"Only one way to find out," Anya said. "And the timing couldn't be better."

* 

Lexa didn't know Clarke's schedule, but she did know where her room was, and on Friday morning she found herself standing in front of her door. She hoped it wasn't too early; she didn't want to wake her, but she also didn't want to wait too long and risk missing her. She raised her hand to knock and—

The door jerked open and Clarke burst out, nearly colliding with Lexa before she realized someone was there and stumbled back. 

"Oh," she said. "You're—"

"Happy Valentine's Day," Lexa said, holding out a head of broccoli, its stem wrapped in red ribbon. 

Clarke looked down at it, then up at her, and started to laugh. "I was just coming to find you," she said. She unslung a big poster tube from her back and removed the end, tipping it up to let a large piece of paper slide out. She offered it to Lexa, who let it uncurl in her hands.

Two young women, back to back in a mish-mash of Greek robes and modern dress, one of them wielding a pen instead of a gun, the other a paintbrush. They were both garlanded in broccoli. 

And if Sappho was a green-eyed brunette and her lover blonde and blue-eyed, well... 

It might just be coincidence. Or it might...

"There's something else," Clarke said. 

"What?" Lexa asked, tearing her eyes away from the page. It was beautiful, and she was already trying to figure out where she could hang it. 

Clarke took a step closer, reaching for Lexa's hand, and then her face. Her fingers glided over Lexa's cheek as she rose on her toes and pressed their lips together in the softest, sweetest kiss Lexa had ever experienced. 

"Breakfast?" Clarke asked, when their lips finally parted again. 

Lexa nodded, slightly dazed, a smiling breaking like the dawn across her face. "Let me get my coat."


End file.
